


Steady Hands

by AnonEhouse



Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-12
Updated: 2012-05-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:53:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/AnonEhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raza withholds drugs, so Yinsen uses a physician's oldest tools to help Tony sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steady Hands

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

"Raza says there will be no more drugs until you build his missile," Yinsen says. "Just the antibiotics."

Tony glances at Yinsen and then back at the diagram he's sketching. He has to pause between strokes of the pencil, timing it between hand shakes. "Yeah, that's great. He's doing me a favor, really. I already drink too much. Last thing I need is to be hooked on morphine and sedatives. This'll be just like the Betty Ford Clinic. Only, without, you know, the paparazzi and gossip columns."

"Yes. Just like that, of course." Yinsen goes back to disassembling things he doesn't understand. Medicine and the frailties of the human body, he does understand, but he also understands the power of the mind, the human spirit. Acknowledging the possibility of failure weakens one's resolve. It is better that Stark doesn't say what they both know, that he is far from healed, far from strong enough to do without the drugs. Yinsen knows what he cut, what he sawed, and what he forced Stark's body to accept as an unnatural irritant, a constant dragging weight, an eternal restriction on lungs. It's all raw and new, and the mind will keep drawing his attention back to it at every opportunity. In a way, the work is good for Stark, giving him a distraction from the pain and the alien thing within him.

It's difficult to tell night from day in their cave prison, but the guards are quieter and the air feels slightly more damp at night, Yinsen thinks. And they don't shout at him to get up and work when he lies on his cot fully dressed with a single thin blanket over himself and tries to keep warm. Cold air isn't good for healing wounds. Neither are short rations and stress. 

Unwillingly, Yinsen is giving in to his instincts to care _about_ Tony Stark as well as care _for_ his patient. True, the man has created weapons for his country without thought for the victims of his inventions, blindly arrogant as any rich man of privilege. But there is no malice in the man. Yinsen thinks of the Nobel prize, founded by the man who created dynamite, after a mistaken report of his death let him see that he would be remembered only as the creator of destruction. Stark has seen what his legacy will be if he dies in this cave. Yinsen has seen his own legacy die before him, but now, perhaps... if he can fan the spark he sees in this man, something good may come of Yinsen's life, something that will live beyond him. Stark has the intelligence to change the world, he only needs the dedication.

He thinks about this, and other things, for the next two days while Stark creates something that turns out oddly delicately beautiful for all that it's a thing of vast power. Stark then lies down on his cot and looks up at him. "You'll need to install a new baseplate, and then fit this to it."

"Yes. Of course." Surgery, again without anesthesia, but this time with Stark fully conscious. "It would be better if you can remain silent. They might think I'm killing you."

Stark smiles. "And Raza would hate anyone taking the pleasure from him. Give me something to bite on."

"I'll get the sock we filter tea through. It's been boiled enough enough times to be cleaner than anything else we have."

Stark nods, and opens his mouth to accept the makeshift gag. He closes his eyes and grips the side of the cot with his hands. 

Yinsen works as quickly as he can, and sighs in relief when it's done. He steps back. "There." Stark spits out the sock, gets up and glances down at himself, and then he gives Yinsen his hand. It feels surprisingly good, but then it's been a long time since anyone has thanked him, even wordlessly, for anything he's done. 

That night when he lies down he notices that Stark is restless, shifting in the other cot before sighing and getting up again to poke in what seems an idle fashion at metal scraps on the large work table. When he turns on the welding torch, Yinsen sits up. "Why don't you get some sleep before you set the place on fire with us in it?"

Stark looks at him. "I haven't been sleeping. I might as well be working." His hands are shaking worse than before; the flame nearly hits an oxygen tank. He shuts off the torch and runs a hand through his hair. "It's just... I can't sleep."

Yinsen nods. "Maybe if you lie down and I talk to you, the distraction will help."

Stark shrugs. "Know any good bedtime stories?" He returns to his cot and lies down. Like Yinsen all he takes off for sleeping are his shoes.

"I used to." Yinsen remembers his children, the nights when they needed something more than a kiss and a warm blanket. When there were storms or they were ill, and the sound of his voice soothed their fears. "They're universal, I think. Do you have a favorite?" He moves a chair close to Stark's cot and sits.

"My parents weren't big on stories, so no. Whatever you want to talk about is fine."

"I'll tell you the story of the Silver on the Hearth, then. For many years a poor farmer struggled to live, but no matter how hard he worked he was never able to put any money aside. One morning he seized on the idea that since his own efforts were insufficient, he would have to wish for wealth to simply appear one morning on his own hearth."

Tony made a derisive noise, but didn't interrupt.

"He decided that this was the only way to be certain that this good fortune was intended for him, and not a trick of evil demons, who, as you know, delight in inflicting pain on humans who take what isn't rightfully theirs. The farmer continued to work as hard as ever, but it was a comfort to him to think of his wish. His clothes were torn on a bramblebush in his field, so he dug it up to prevent that happening again. Under the roots he found the lid of a large pottery jar. Curious, he looked inside and found it was full of silver coins."

"Too easy," Tony muttered.

Yinsen nodded. "After his initial delight, the farmer decided that the money wasn't meant for him, as he had wished for it to appear on his hearth. So he left the treasure, and continued his normal day's work."

Tony rolled his eyes, but stayed quiet. His hands were restlessly moving about his chest, not touching the implant, but not going far from it, either.

"That night he told his wife what had happened. She was angry at him, but he refused to bring in the money, as he'd decided it wasn't his. She waited for him to fall asleep, and then went to their nearest neighbor and said that if he would get the money, she would share it with him. The neighbor was very agreeable to this, although in his mind he thought that as he would be doing all the work and the woman could hardly let her husband know about the money, he wouldn't have to give her very much of it at all. He found the dug up bush by the light of his lantern, and saw the lidded jar. He dug the jar up, but when he lifted the lid, instead of silver he found it full of poisonous snakes."

Tony snorted.

Yinsen smiled. "The man thought, 'She wanted me to put my hand in there and be killed!' and was so angry he carried the jar to the woman's house, climbed on the roof and emptied the jar of snakes down the chimney. The next morning the farmer arose at dawn, as usual, but when he went to the hearth to rake up the smoldering fire he found it covered with silver coins. His heart swelled with gratitude and he said, 'Surely this was intended for me as it appeared upon my own hearth, as I wished!' "

"Interesting," Tony said. "So, that's a fairy tale. I can see why my parents didn't bother with them. Nothing good ever gets dropped on your own hearth."

"Nothing?"

"Well, all right, born with a silver spoon here, I suppose that counts as a hearth. But in general, wishes are a waste of time. If you want something, you go after it." Tony closes his eyes a moment. "Right now, what I want is sleep. But I can't think of any way to go after it."

"The story didn't help."

"I'm not a child, so no, it didn't help."

Yinsen sighs. "You have to sleep. Is the pain bad?"

"Pain? What pain?" Tony looks away from Yinsen. "It's not bad."

"But you can't sleep." Yinsen reaches down and puts his hand over one of Tony's. "A little massage might help. Open your shirt."

"What?" Tony blinks up at Yinsen.

"Muscle tension makes the pain worse."

"You're going to keep at me until I agree, aren't you?" Tony sighs and unbuttons two layers of shirts and lies back down. 

Yinsen works carefully around Tony's chest, kneading muscles and warming chilled skin. He's amused to realize that he's been thinking of him as Tony ever since he began telling him the story. Better to feel ties of intimacy towards a fellow prisoner than their captors, though. Not that he thinks of Tony as a child. The muscle under his hands is definitely that of a man. And the reaction he notices to his touch is also that of a man.

"You can stop," Tony says. He sounds more tense, not less.

Yinsen pauses. "Or I could continue. Orgasm releases endorphins and promotes natural relaxation. You might be able to sleep afterward."

"You have a family."

"They won't mind. You're in pain. I can ease that pain for a little while. I would give you drugs, if I had them. I don't. All I have to offer are my hands."

Tony looks at him for a minute and then nods. "I'm just... so tired." He fumbles at his trousers. "You know. Just do it."

Yinsen talks softly about how beautiful his garden in Gulmira is, about things that have nothing to do with this cold, dark hole in the earth. He has a little cooking oil. It works well enough. This isn't the first time he's touched a man for pleasure, but that had been so long ago, when he was curious and so was his friend. It doesn't mean anything, except that it does. When he finally manages to urge Tony to orgasm, it's good to see the lines of pain smooth out on Tony's face, to see the tense muscles in his belly soften, and best of all to see his eyes flutter open for a moment before they close and he falls into a natural, healing sleep.

Yinsen smiles and cleans up before going back to lie on his own cot. It might be awkward tomorrow, but he suspects not. He wouldn't mind doing this again for Tony. He always was a hands on physician.


End file.
